


Could Roses Bloom

by Pins_and_Patches



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how to tag this, I finally wrote rich's brother into the fic, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nightmares, Not a Love Story, Party, Post-Canon, Rich has C-PTSD, Title from a Billie Eilish Song, Trauma, adams worried about rich, apparently none of y'all write rich with a sister, don't look at the new tags they're spoilers, i want this story to be about rich and what happened to him, i've decided I don't want richjake to be endgame anymore, oh btw next chapter's gonna have some Brooke in it, ok cool i see how it is, what kind of party? i don't know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-11-01 22:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pins_and_Patches/pseuds/Pins_and_Patches
Summary: It's been over two years since Rich first got a Squip. For only a couple months of those years has he been living without the Squip. The rest of that time, he was being abused and hurt into being good enough, repressing his "bad" traits and replacing them with "good" ones. Two years of nonstop physical and emotional abuse. Now Rich is alone, struggling with complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and afraid to trust anyone ever again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I'm posting to AO3, I'm really new to the format and whatnot (as is probably evident by my tags), so I'm sorry if this is weirdly formatted or unprofessional-looking. This fic is also mostly angst, so just be warned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half a month, one month, two years- no friends, no masking, always hiding in himself.  
Over a month, two months, two years, sixteen days- a fake smile, a forced laugh, putting on yet another show for his friends.

It had been half a month since Rich was let out of the hospital, a month since the fire, and over two years since he took the Squip.

His first week back was bad, one of the lowest points he’d ever been at in his life. He avoided everyone, wouldn’t talk, and tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He wore an old, oversized gray hoodie with the hood always up, never turned off his music or took off his black headphones, hid himself from everyone, and did everything alone. Couldn’t focus in class. Ran away when things got too crowded, loud or stressful. Ate lunch in the bathroom.

That is, until Christine showed up at the beginning of his second week. Rich was sitting in the boys’ bathroom, obscuring himself with two chairs that were in the corner for some reason, which he used to hide from most people’s view, his hood pulled down, trying to ignore the burn scar on his hand as he slowly ate his lunch.  
Footsteps approached and Rich tensed up. He had heard them behind him every so often when he was walking to the bathroom, and they were back.  
He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t Christine Canigula. Yet there she was, standing outside of Rich’s chair fort, staring in at him. He didn’t look at her.  
She knocked on the chair. Out of pure instinct, he knocked back and when she giggled he found himself smiling a little.  
“Can I move this? Is that okay?” She asked. He pushed the chair away and she sat down next to him.  
“Why did you follow me?” He asked.  
“You seemed lonely.” She shrugged. Rich nodded. “Like, everyone’s being nice to me and all, but it’s just all out of pity. Either that or they’re not actually concerned for me but just want to seem like a good person. And don’t get me started on the kids who don’t even try.”  
“Like the jerkwad who wrote on your locker?” She asked, looking like she wanted to murder whoever had done that. Rich nodded and scoffed.  
“Oh, um, Rich,” She said, changing the subject suddenly, “if you want-”  
A stall door slammed.  
“You’re not supposed to be in here!” A boy yelled, pointing at Christine.  
Christine gasped dramatically.  
“Danny Devito? I love your work!” She exclaimed, chasing the boy out of the bathroom. Once he was gone she came back and sat down, struggling to stifle her laughter.  
“Danny Devito?” Rich asked.  
“Eh, don’t worry about it. That tends to work better on girls anyways. But, uh, if you want, you could always come sit with me at lunch. You could start today, if you’re up for it.”  
Rich didn’t want to get his hopes up, but that did sound nice. While he did really want to just be alone and isolated from everything until he could process it all, there was a part of him that desperately wanted to have friends again.  
“Who do you sit with?” He asked cautiously.  
“Jeremy and Michael and Jake.” Christine answered.  
A pit formed in Rich’s stomach.  
“...Jake?” He repeated. Christine’s smile faded and it was replaced by a soft, worried expression.  
“Yeah, Jake. You know he’s not, like, upset with you, right? He knows all about the Squip thing and everything, he said you two kind of made up in the hospital-”  
“I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know.” Rich repeated, talking louder and louder until she stopped. “I just….”  
“He’s been really worried about you.” She interrupted. _Right_. Rich had forgotten how persistent she was, especially when trying to make a point. “He hasn’t seen you since you got let out of the hospital, he’s worried something happened to you, he wants to know you’re okay.” Christine put her hand on Rich’s shoulder. “He really cares about you.”  
Rich didn’t know what to say. It was a huge relief to know Jake cared about him, but he felt bad for worrying Jake. And he still felt awful for destroying his house. And on top of all that, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Jake again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be.  
Not when he was still dealing with the Squip. He wasn’t ready for any more stress.  
“Come on,” Christine said softly. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”  
Rich sighed.  
“Fine.”

That was the first genuinely good day he’d had since freshman year.

It didn’t help much, though. Too much damage had already been done and Rich was too scared to let anyone help.

Some days were fine. The days where he got red flannel of Jake’s that was a size too small for him to replace the old gray hoodie Rich had been wearing that had started to fray and rip in some spots, where he came to school with the tips of his hair dyed blue, where he and Christine hung out after school, sitting on top of buildings at parks with soda and snacks, talking about life and school and stuff. Those days he could be normal and happy and keep his mind off the Squip and how awful all of that had been and how he had almost destroyed the school and how much damage it did to him and…

Then there were the bad days. The days where he’d hide in his red flannel or wear the old gray hoodie again, where he’d either be silent at lunch or wouldn’t even show up, where he wouldn’t even bother pretending to not notice the residue of the sharpie on his locker, where he’d literally make himself physically sick with anxiety and dread from thinking about it, if he got yelled at for any reason he would have a panic attack, where any mention of the Squip or anything even mildly related to it broke him.

But what was worst was the sudden flashbacks. Never provoked by anything, just a sudden memory and a voice in his head. That’s all it took to destroy him.

The first time it happened, he was with Christine, sitting on top of the dugout at the park’s baseball field. Christine was rambling about some musical that was going on Broadway in a few months, and all of a sudden something hit Rich.

He froze.

His Pepsi bottle fell out of his hand and rolled off the roof.

_Look at what you did. You ruined yourself. You ruined everything. You ruined everything and it’s your fault it happened. It’s all your fault._

The sound of the bottle hitting the ground alerted Christine that something was wrong. She sat up and examined him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He managed, though his heavy, labored breathing and the tears in his fearful, hurt brown eyes made it obvious he was lying.

“No, you’re not. What’s wrong?” She persisted. Rich didn’t answer, though it was clear he was trying to. He was repeating something over and over but he couldn’t seem to get the words out, whatever he was mouthing Christine couldn’t make out. She took a wild guess, the thing that seemed most probable.

“Is it the Squip?”

Rich nodded. Christine’s eyes widened.

“Is it reactivating? I can call Michael and Jeremy if-”

“Nonononono, don’t worry,” Rich cut in. “It’s not. I just… It just keeps coming back… I dunno.”

Rich sighed shakily, pulling his knees closer.

Christine looked at him, worry riddling her face. She hadn’t fully understood what he had meant but she figured it had something to do with memories of the Squip.

“Are you gonna be okay?” She asked.

He shrugged weakly.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

Rich looked at her and nodded slightly. Christine didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone look more hurt and tired and afraid and scattered.

“Alright, let’s get down then,” She said.

Once they had both climbed down, Christine grabbed Rich’s shaken-up Pepsi.

“I recommend you don’t try and open that,” Christine joked. Rich nodded dejectedly, chuckling a little bit, and took the bottle from her. He looked emotionally exhausted.

Christine couldn’t shake the thought that she’d somehow done something that had triggered this, but she knew it wasn’t the time to think about that. Right now, Rich needed to be more important than the voice in the back of her mind asking if she’d done something wrong.

Rich weakly shut the door, enough that it shut all the way but not enough to slam it. He set his Pepsi down in the cup holder and began rocking back and forth, staring out the window.

“Hey Rich?” She asked. Rich jumped and turned to her.

“Yeah?”

“Has this ever happened before? Like, anything like this?”

“No,” Rich lied. Christine examined him, looking for any signs of lying, but decided she believed him. Her doubtful expression faded and she turned on the car.

Rich sighed in relief.

After that incident, Rich decided to never let anyone know about his “problem”. He didn’t want to be a burden on his friends, especially when his problem stemmed from something that was entirely his fault. They didn’t need that weight on them. He could bear it on his own.

He learned to function through flashbacks, how to ward off panic attacks, mask overstimulation, make excuses, lie easily.

It had been over a month since Rich was let out of the hospital, two months since the fire, over two years since he took the Squip, and sixteen days since he learned to hide his trauma.

He could never let his guard down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich's home situation and a look into his relationship with his family.

School was the hardest place for Rich, simultaneously the best and worst. He didn’t like his home, and while school provided an escape of sorts, it was stressful and bad in its own ways.

For example, homework. Schoolwork was stressful enough but what was worse was when most of his teachers had decided there was no homework except for his math teacher.

And to make matters worse, she hadn’t posted the stupid assignment, Rich thought angrily as he reloaded the page for the fifth time. Nothing. She said she’d post it by 3, and it was 7:35.

_Whatever_, Rich decided as he closed the tab, _I’ll tell her tomorrow._

He opened his sketchbook and continued drawing from his reference image: a Minecraft scene. He had been spending his free time sketching a more realistic adaptation of it.

Rich grabbed a colored pencil, gray with a slight hint of blue, and began gently coloring the cloudy sky. It was nice, and he felt calm. Nothing was on his mind, not the Squip, not school, not the stress of masking, just drawing.

Then Rich’s dad came into the dining room.

“Emma, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be doing your homework.” He said.

“My name isn’t Emma,” Rich said without thinking. “It’s Rich.”

Immediately Rich regretted it when he saw his dad’s face contort into rage. He hoped his calm tone in response would make his dad at least a little less angry.

“_That was not my point!_” He shouted. Rich flinched and didn’t move back to his original position. “You’re supposed to be doing your homework!”

“I told you, the teacher didn’t post it, _Dad_.” Rich replied, struggling to keep his cool.

“Don’t be fucking snippy with me, Emma. You need to do your homework.”

“_I already said the teacher didn’t post it!_” Rich yelled.

His dad slammed his hand against the table. A phantom shock ran down his spine and for second all he could see was his Squip. He pulled back further, his breaths shaky.

“_I told you not to be snippy with me! I am THIS CLOSE to absolutely LOSING IT at you!_” His dad yelled back. Rich covered his ears and pulled himself into a ball as his dad spoke.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Please… Don’t hurt me… Please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t mumble,” Was his dad’s only response. He tried to hold in a relieved sigh. He was beyond glad his dad hadn’t heard him begging “don’t hurt me”, but he knew it was best not to push his luck.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Ms. Wilson didn’t post the assignment, so I can’t really do the homework.”

“You should start taking notes in class,” His dad said harshly.

“She didn’t give us the assignment in class. And I do take notes.”

“For fuck’s sake. Whatever, just… I don’t know. Figure something out. You’re going to fail at this rate.”

His dad turned away.

It’s not my fault, Rich thought. He wanted to say it but he had learned, time and time again, throughout his entire life, that he shouldn’t fight back. Instead, he reopened his sketchbook and continued drawing.

“Rich, I’m going to the store. Watch over your sister.”

“‘Kay,” Rich replied, not looking up from his sketchbook. Once again, the door shut and Rich was left alone in the house with the responsibility of watching over Abigail.

Abby was five, only two years old when their mom died. She was bright and sweet and absolutely adored Rich. Rich loved her too, but he often felt like he had to protect her from their dad, who treated her just as badly as he treated Rich even though she was just a kindergartener.

Rich pushed his sketchbook away and rested his head in his arms. The cold wood on the table felt nice against his face, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He wanted to scream, yell, throw and break things, do something to get his anger out, but he didn’t want to scare Abby. He knew what that was like too well.

Abby came out to the dining room, holding her pale aqua-blue stuffed bunny in her arm.

“Was dad yelling at you, Richie?” She asked, sounding a little concerned.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it though, Abby. He was just mad about my homework.”

“He’s always mad about something,” Abby pouted, bringing her bunny up and burying her face in it.

Rich bit his tongue. On one hand, he wanted to comfort his sister, tell her that wasn’t true, but it really was. He couldn’t say that, though…

“Here, do you wanna play a game? I can turn something on.”

“Mario Kart!” Abby exclaimed. “Can you play with me? It’s too hard to play alone.”

“I’ll play a few matches later, but I’m working on a drawing, okay?”

“Okay!”

As Rich turned on Mario Kart, Abby started humming contentedly. Rich smiled. Even if he was struggling, a lot, it made him feel a little better to see Abby so happy.

At least he was good enough for something.

Once Rich finished his drawing he realized he didn’t really have anything to do to distract himself, no way to be productive or useful.

And he didn’t particularly feel like suffocating in his emotions.

Okay, he decided, that's fine. I'm fine. I'll find something. I can keep making art, I can find things.

He turned to art. He would spend days entirely absorbed in his sketchbook, drawing abstract and specific art, self-portraits, drawings of his Squip, just scribbling away at page after page after page. It was… therapeutic.

Until his style and taste started improving and then he was holding his art, his method of venting, up to an impossible standard he never met that just made him more and more upset and on his bad days that was the last thing he needed.

That took away his one healthy form of venting and he absolutely did not want to turn to what he was doing to himself in freshman year but he felt like he was running out of options.

He wanted to tell someone but he didn't want anyone to know.

He felt stuck. He was struggling in a black ocean and every flashback, every trigger, every mood drop, every little thing that went wrong, was a huge wave, crashing over him and pushing him back under, the water leaking into his lungs and choking his breaths.

He was going to drown.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of things you wish didn't exist plague you when you close your eyes, but the effects go further than the dreams themselves.  
How well can you hide it?

It took Rich's eyes a second to adjust to the dark. Immediately he wished they hadn't.

He saw Madison standing in front of him and realized where he was. He was back in the closet at her party.

He wanted to tell her to get off of him, but he felt paralyzed. His Squip was covering his mouth, keeping him silent, keeping him still.

Under his shirt, under his binder.....

She backed off.

She hadn't known he was trans until then.

"You lied to me."

And then he was alone in the closet in her bedroom, covering his mouth to muffle his sobs.

The worst scar on his body from being shocked came from that night.

Every time Rich messed up he got shocked. If he was alone the Squip would take control of his arms and make him hit himself.

Aching.

Bruises and red marks all over his thighs.

Shocks littering his spine and the back of his neck where no one could see them.

All of that vision cut out and then there it was again: The Squip, smiling evilly at him.

_"Did you miss me?"_

Rich woke up, curled up in a ball, his body involuntarily shaking and twitching. He pushed himself up. A dream, all a dream.

He was barely glad it was all just a dream. He had still seen it, it was still scarily real, and he still felt like throwing up because of it.

He considered not showing up to lunch, but it wasn't a huge deal. It was just going to be him and Jeremy anyways, everyone else was busy or gone. One person shouldn't be so hard to hold conversation with, besides....

Jeremy had gone through similar things with his Squip, so he didn't feel so tense and forced to keep quiet.

"You okay?" Jeremy asked. Rich flinched. "You seem kind of on edge. What's wrong?"

Rich bit his tongue and looked away, blinking quickly to force the faded image of his Squip out of his mind's eye.

"I..." He sighed. "I had a nightmare about the Squip last night. I've been thinking about it a lot, and trying to process it has really been fucking me up, now I've got this to deal with too, and I just...."

Jeremy waited for Rich to continue, but he didn't. Finally Jeremy started talking.

"I get that. It happens to me too." He said. "I'm sorry you're dealing with that. Do you wanna talk about it more?"

Rich shook his head.

"Ok, well, if you ever need anything, I'm here. I'm kind of dealing with the same shit, so I can do my best to help you, 'kay?"

"Thanks, Jeremy." Rich smiled softly.

Fighting against his melatonin supplements was the weirdest thing Rich had ever done. Because of his sensitivity to sensory input, he had to take them to sleep at night, but he was too afraid to fall asleep in case he had another nightmare.

He felt disoriented, his eyes stung from keeping them open, and his neck hurt, but he didn't put his phone down. The second he shut his eyes he risked more flashbacks. He couldn't bear to see it again.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he ended up waking up. It wasn't until around noon, when Christine's cousin Dustin invited Rich to a party he was having that Rich really became aware of what was happening.

The last time he'd gone to a party he'd ended up burning down the host's house in a suicide attempt.

He knew Dustin knew that, and he knew that meant he was maybe finally getting over that mess and that Dustin didn't just see him as a freak.

So he put on a fake smile and hoped it was convincing.

"Sure, I'll come."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich's home situation and a look into his relationship with his family part 2, featuring a guest star, Rich's brother

"Rich?" Adam called from the front door.

Rich didn't even process that his older brother was talking to him at first. He was so used to responding to "Emma" or "Em" when talking to Adam that he hadn't even realized he was out to him now.

"Rich?" Adam called again. "Richard?"

Rich still didn't respond, just to see where Adam took it this time.

One thing Adam always did that he didn't drop once Rich came out was that, when calling for him when he came home, if Rich didn't respond it'd slowly devolve into him screaming nonsense to get Rich's attention.

"Richard Goranski? Dick Goranski? Penis Goranski?"

Rich laughed, picking up a pillow from the couch and covering his face with it.

"I'm out here, Adam-and-Steve," He called back.

"Ah, there you are," Adam said, stepping into the living room. "The legendary Penis Goranski."

"Nice to see you too, dumbass," Rich retorted, throwing the pillow at his brother. Adam caught it, but when he saw Rich his expression turned to shock. His green eyes widened.

Adam had inherited most of their mother's traits- her green eyes and tall, lanky body shape, but he had gotten their dad's brown hair rather than their mom's wavy blonde hair, which Rich knew from experience was a nightmare to keep in place, and for that reason Rich somewhat envied him, even though having a more muscular build helped him pass as male and he knew that his brother's features were more often seen as feminine. He still would've liked to look more like his mother.

"Whoa, what happened to you, man?" Adam asked.

Rich tilted his head slightly and blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, your... Shit. That was probably rude. Sorry."

"It's alright..." Rich said hesitantly as he tried to figure out what Adam was referring to.

_Wait._

"Oh, you mean my scars? I-" He hesitated slightly, trying to figure out how to say it without revealing he'd burned down his best friend's house in a suicide attempt because of his SQUIP, which his brother didn't even know about at all. "I was caught in a house fire at a Halloween party."

"Damn, that's... That's rough."

"Yeah, but-"

He stopped himself, realizing he was about to mention the SQUIP, and just shrugged instead.

Adam stared at him, in shock that he could refer to almost dying so casually.

"Aside from that, how've you been in the past, what, two years? Three? It's been a long time, how's it going?"

"Pretty good. There's been a lot of shit that's happened since I last saw you."

Rich's fingers itched for something to cling to while he talked. Without even realizing it, he moved his hands up to his neck, where his fingers rested on his collarbones, his fingernails digging into the skin.

"It was really fuckin' wack, like something out of an almost-realistic sci-fi book or some bullshit. There were these things called SQUIPs that a couple of kids were using to... get popular, to help with insecurities, and it backfired. Badly. The kids ended up getting-"

He took a shaky breath, pushing his nails deeper into his skin.

"-Pretty much taken over by those abusive hivemind robots. They started making the other students involuntarily take them, but since they were all synced, when a few kids managed to deactivate one, all of them deactivated."

"What happened to the kids who got the... SQUIPs?"

"The Squipped kids all survived and recovered, at least physically, but a lot of u- them... ended up traumatized..."

His voice faded as he struggled to keep the thoughts in the back of his mind, digging his long, bitten nails further still into his collarbones until the skin started to break.

It was at this point Adam noticed.

"Are you okay, Rich?"

He didn't respond, too deep in his own thoughts.

"Hey!"

Adam shook Rich's shoulder. Rich covered his mouth, muffling a scream, and jumped back. Adam drew back.

"Are you okay?"

Rich mumbled a response, the only coherent words being "I'm sorry."

"...Do you wanna do something else?"

Rich just nodded.

"Okay, um... Have you watched Nailed It? My roommate was watching it a while ago and I immediately thought, _this is something Rich would like._"

"No, I haven't, actually. I haven't watched any TV in, like, a month."

It was meant to seem joking, but any sort of positivity fell flat in the thick fog of anxiety and secrets that had enveloped the living room.

_It's your fault._

They turned on Nailed It- which Rich found himself very interested in- and eventually their joy and laughter cleared the fog until they could see, and they started catching up, talking about lighter topics and pretending Rich's flashback hadn't happened.

Rich pretended he didn't notice that Adam was still a little tense.

And it was only when Rich was going to bed that he risked answering a question that may have something to do with the SQUIP.

"Rich?" Adam called as Rich started off upstairs.

"Yeah?"

"About the SQUIPs... And... What happened earlier."

There was a momentary pause as Adam struggled to find words.

"Were... Were you one of the kids who got Squipped?"

Rich just looked away.

His silence said enough.

**Author's Note:**

> ....I tried. I don't know how good it actually is, I'm just crossing my fingers that it's at least decent.


End file.
